Mumbai traffic being what it was, it was almost ten when their motor-rickshaw reached Juhu Beach. Despite the late hour it was still crowded with people. The vendors were out, briskly selling veg biryani, samosas, Bombay chaats and other local specialties.
‘Care for some dessert?’ asked Kamal, and when Janiki nodded, bought two ice golas and handed her one: a crushed ice lollipop covered with flavoured juices.
All around them, families were out enjoying the night breeze. The beach was well lit, and the women’s saris shone in the lamps’ glow like bright moving jewels. People sitting, walking, some running; groups of friends, couples canoodling, children playing or sleeping on their mothers’ laps. It was hard to believe that this was the same city; that such a relaxed and joyous community could harbour the evil that had swallowed Asha. That’s India, thought Janiki; the juxtaposition of extremes. The highest bliss and the deepest misery. Abject poverty next to fabulous wealth. Shining saintliness next to darkest evil. And everything in between.
Licking their golas, they walked out towards the sea; black waves touched with ripples of frothing white surf lapping at the sand; a cool breeze playing with her hair and her dupatta.
It was perfect. A bubble of delight stolen from the anguish that defined her life right now, and his.
‘So what did you want to talk about?’ asked Kamal after a while.
‘Your grandmother,’ said Janiki.
He stiffened, and looked at her abruptly.
‘My grandmother? What do you know about my grandmother?’
‘I met her,’ said Janiki. ‘I’m sorry; I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet – everything’s been about Asha up to now. I was looking for you when Asha first went missing and I had no contact details, nothing at all. But I remembered Amma being so impressed that you were actually a prince, and—’
‘I’m not,’ said Kamal, cutting in. ‘Don’t go repeating that nonsense.’
‘Kamal, I know you reject—’
‘You listened to her lies? Yes, they are all lies. We are not a royal family. Not a drop of our blood is blue. No maharajas and maharanis. It’s all a huge big lie. What happened is this: we’re a very wealthy family. We’re from a long line of silk merchants; we made all kinds of silk, but our speciality was and is patola silk. Patola-weaving is a closely guarded family tradition; only a few families know how to do it. It can take six months to one year to make a single sari; that’s how precious the silk is. In the past it was only royalty that wore patola silk; it’s still only the fabulously wealthy. Anyway. A few generations back one of the Indian royal families was getting poor and so they married one of my ancestors. That’s the whole story. That’s our only link to royalty. All this talk of maharajas and the Maharani of Jaipur and her wedding – it’s just stupid boasting. Daadi is a fake, Janiki. That’s why I cut all ties with her.’
‘She said it was because she was trying to arrange your marriage.’
‘Nonsense. Why would I be annoyed for that reason? It’s normal in India, and all I had to do was ignore her. Which I did. I married Caroline, didn’t I? No, Janiki, marriage wasn’t the reason. When I was in America I did the research and discovered who we really are. That she had tried to raise me on a pack of lies. Made my childhood miserable. I was so furious – I wrote her a letter and told her not to contact me ever again. And went my own way. I had a trust fund, still have it, for that matter, though I’ve not needed it for a long time. It’s for Asha. No – I just couldn’t deal with the lie. She tried to brainwash me with it when I was just a boy, kept me practically imprisoned in the palace – which by the way was never a real palace. Just a huge luxurious home some ancestor built a long time ago. She fed me all that nonsense about being a prince, and by the way, all those women she tried to marry me off to – she fed them the lie as well. Her dishonesty is what enraged me, and she knows it. She just won’t admit to anyone, not even to herself, that she isn’t royalty. She’s crazy.’
‘She’s just an old woman who’s very lonely, Kamal. I mean, why would she make up such a huge fiction? Surely it can only be because she feels insecure? She’s desperate for contact with you. Did you know she’s been following you around with the help of private detectives, all this time? She knew exactly where to find you. She even called your office in Dubai while I was there. I bet she’s got a detective following us right now. That’s how obsessed she is. And she’s interested in Asha, too, Kamal. That’s what I wanted to say. Why don’t we get this private detective of hers to help? She’s dying for you to make contact. And one day she will die, Kamal. Her health isn’t at all good. You should make up with her before she dies. You really should.’
All through Janiki’s little speech Kamal had repeatedly tried to interrupt, but she had just ploughed on. She had to have her say. She paused slightly now to take a breath, which she knew would give him a chance to speak up, but he didn’t, and so she just continued.
‘It’s not good to harbour resentment for so many years, Kamal. It’s not good for your mental health. It just gnaws away inside you and it’s not good. Like a little leech that won’t let go. You should contact her. Reconcile. It would do you good. I promise. You know, this might sound strange, but I feel sorry for her. I really do. She’s really lonely, stuck in that palace with her Bollywood movies and her luxury and not being able to walk and having to be cared for. She’s just a disabled old woman.’
‘A fat disabled old woman.’
‘She probably got fat because she’s so unhappy. And then it becomes a vicious circle; you eat and you get fat and you get unhappy and you eat because you’re unhappy and you get fat. It’s no reason to hate her.’
‘I don’t hate her. It was anger, not hate, that caused the rift.’
‘Well then. If you don’t hate her it’s time to cool down the anger. It’s high time, Kamal. You shouldn’t nurse anger for so many years. It’s really unhealthy.’
‘You’re quite a little guru, aren’t you?’
‘It’s just common sense. That’s all it is. Anyone could tell you that.’
‘So you take her side, do you?’
There was a smile in his voice now, and Janiki knew she had won. Still, she had to make her point clear.
‘It’s not a question of taking sides. I’m just telling you what would be good for you.’
‘Hmmm. Still, she seems to have won you over. What else did she tell you?’
It was Janiki’s turn to smile.
‘Promise you won’t take this the wrong way?’
‘Promise.’
‘She thought I should marry you.’
He laughed out loud. ‘Typical! So typical. And what did you say to that?’
‘I told her you were too old for me.’
‘What! Are you out of your mind? Old? Me?’
She chuckled, and shrugged. ‘Too old, not old. I also told her I was already engaged.’
‘Really? I didn’t know that.’
‘Well, I was. He broke it off just after I got to Bombay.’
‘He broke it off? Really? Why? Stupid fellow! A lovely woman like you, caring and wise and educated as well? What more could he want?’
‘I guess he was more traditional than I thought. His parents weren’t keen any more. Not since my parents died. They wanted a big wedding, which my parents would have provided, and also the fact that I was actually an orphan – they thought it was bad luck. They talked him into breaking it off.’
‘So it was an arranged marriage? I wouldn’t have thought…’
‘No – it was a love marriage. I mean, it was going to be a love marriage. But of course our parents discussed it and approved and all that Indian stuff. You can never really get away from it. We did care for each other. We were going to get married when I returned from America.’
‘So are you very upset?’
‘To be honest, no. He told me via email – what a way to break up with someone! And I was already in the throes of the whole drama of Asha so everything else seemed so minor in comparison. It was like water off a duck’s back.’
She paused, and they walked in silence for a while, each lost in their thoughts. Then Janiki said:
‘And what about you and Caroline? Amma used to say your heart was so thoroughly broken you would never recover. She admired you so much for that.’
‘Oh, nonsense. Of course I was hurt when she dumped me; I loved her, and took my marriage seriously. And I’ve got that thing called male pride, and that was hurt too. And it was tough for a while. But I’m a realist. I got back on my feet. I went to stay in an ashram for a while, and found my spiritual bearings again, and that helped. And then I simply got on with life. What’s the point of nursing a grievance for years and years?’
‘But you know, you’re so cold towards her. At least, what I’ve seen of you together. As if you’re still mad at her. She’s trying so hard to be nice to you and you’re like a cold fish. It made me think you’re still in love with her.’
‘A cold fish, am I? I wasn’t aware of it. OK, I’ll try to be nicer to her in future. But I’m definitely not still in love with her. Not at all.’
‘Rani Abishta also thinks you’re clinging to the past, and that’s why you never remarried. Or showed any interest in women.’
‘Oh really. Rani Abishta said that. What else did Rani Abishta say about my marital prospects?’
‘For someone so furious at her, you seem very interested!’
‘Of course! I want to know what you women get up to when you discuss my future marriage. Go on – what else did she say?’
‘Well – she said she had arranged for you to meet attractive women again and again. But always you refused. She thought maybe you were homosexual. Or you were still grieving for Caroline. Or a would-be monk. Or something.’
He laughed. ‘No to all of that. Those beautiful women who kept bumping into me accidentally on purpose – I might have known she was behind it all. But no. I just haven’t – hadn’t – met the right woman. It’s not so easy. Not in India. Not even in the West.’
‘Especially not in the West. My closest female friend in California, Terri, always used to say I was so lucky to be already engaged. She wanted to find Mr Right but you can’t even mention marriage and kids on a first date, she said, when you’re trying to suss out the basics, like if the guy is only out for a fun time or if he’s serious. And usually it’s the former. Just fun. Pleasure. And pleasure isn’t enough, is it? It can get really frustrating, Terri said, because you have to avoid the subject for months and even years and then when you finally find out he’s commitment-phobic, you’ve wasted a lot of time and energy and emotional investment, and it all ends in acrimony and leaves you with yet another scar so that you’re afraid to trust. But you’re a good feminist and so you put on a brave face and pretend to be just as commitment-phobic and you don’t need a man, and you try again and it’s the same coyness and scars and by the time you’re thirty – she’s twenty-nine – all you are is one big scar and you can’t trust anyone. At least that’s how she seems to me, and she admits it too. With us Indians, you know from the very first date that it’s all about marriage compatibility.’
She stopped for breath and the silence between them was thick as he absorbed what she’d said, and her last two words seemed to echo up to the stars. And it was suddenly embarrassing. Had she been too open? Too… something. She’d spoken the M-word, so taboo in the West. The surf splashed and lapped against the beach in frothy gladness, as if laughing at her silly little speech. So revealing, so unnecessary. So un-feminist. But then, this wasn’t really a—
He spoke into her self-recriminations, and it wasn’t what she’d expected.
‘So, Janiki, does this count as a first date?’
She chuckled. ‘Does that count as an expression of interest?’
They both laughed then, and he said, ‘I guess it’s a yes to both questions, then. No coyness.’
His hand closed around hers, and she left hers there. It felt just right.